Hola Punaewele (Protocol)
by elfinblue
Summary: Cargument for the sake of cargument. Outsider POV. Not intended as slash.


Author's note: So, I haven't been around in a few years, at least as far as writing goes. My third book came out in February and I just turned in the manuscript for the fourth, so that's been pretty much taking up all my time. But the thing is, I've been having some problems with writer's block so I thought maybe playing with fanfiction might help to, you know, sort of dynamite the problem? And since I've just discovered this awesome show, I thought it would be fun to play around with it just a tiny little bit. This is just a silly one-shot because I love the McGarrettt-Williams relationship and really wanted to write some interaction between them. Also, and I'm not making ANY promises because I'm working on at least three books right now, but I've noticed that Hawaii 5-0 canon includes an NCIS-LA crossover. That means they exist in the same universt as NCIS and therefore, theoretically, I can draw them into the same universe as my Supernatural/NCIS crossovers without too much of a stretch. I'm NOT PROMISING. But it's possible.

Anyway, here this is. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

Elf ;)

Hola Pūnaewele (Protocol)

by

Elfinblue

Ensign Jimmy Barrett stopped outside Iolani Palace, the impressive building that housed the Hawaiian governor's 5-0 task force. He straightened his tie and checked his watch. It was five minutes to nine. Ensign Barrett was determined to make himself memorable to the highly-decorated and widely-respected former SEAL who led the team. The best way to make a good first impression, he believed, was to arrive with military precision. Since he was still five minutes early, he stepped out of sight into the bushes by the door and busied himself with composing an email to his brother in his head.

"Hey, Punk.

Remember how I told you this posting in Hawaii was going to be the start of big things? Remember how you laughed at me? Well, little bro, be prepared to eat your words. It just so happens that I have been assigned to assist the governor's task force. Now, you probably don't know what that is, because you're a moron, but you'll have plenty of time to figure it out. I expect to be indispensable to them for the foreseeable future. I may even wind up with a permanent posting here. The leader is a former Navy SEAL who was personally selected by the former governor who set up the task force. They're all over the news here all the time. The commander has done some amazing things, working with a bunch of civilians, but I figure he's probably ready to be around a military man again. I'm probably going to wind up as his adjutant. Hell, by the end of the day, I'll probably be second in command. So just you be ready to-"

He checked his watch again. It was 8:58:30 so he stepped out onto the sidewalk and followed a short, neatly-dressed blond man into the building and on to the task force headquarters. At precisely nine A.M. he went through the doors and presented himself to the group gathered around a smart table in the center of the room. In addition to the blond, there were an Asian man and woman and a large black man. Barrett stood at attention, hat tucked under his arm, and was deeply disappointed to see no sign of Commander Steven McGarrett.

"Ensign James Barrett reporting," he said, forgoing the snappy salute he'd practiced, since there was no one in the room but civilians.

"Reporting for what?" the blond guy asked in an unmistakable Jersey accent.

"I was ordered to report to Commander McGarrett this morning."

"Okay. Why?"

"Umm...because?"

The door at his back opened again and Blondie looked up.

"Yo, Steven. Did you order a sailor?"

Barrett spun on his heel and found that Commander McGarrett had entered the suite of offices. There was no mistaking the man. He was tall and athletic, with a serious demeanor. He wore a gun on his hip and his gold badge on his belt and even dressed in khaki cargo pants and a dark blue polo shirt, he exuded an air of authority.

Barrett jammed his hat on his head, threw his shoulders back and saluted smartly.

"You're being reported to," Blondie said helpfully behind him.

McGarrett frowned down at him doubtfully. "Stand down," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I, um, I was ordered to report to you?"

The commander stared down at him for a long, uncomfortable minute, then his face cleared. "Wait. Do you have keys?"

"Yes, sir!" Barrett snatched at the heavy keychain on his belt and held it up like a talisman.

McGarrett turned back to the others. "He has keys."

"Keys?" Jersey asked. (Barrett thought to himself that the guy didn't sound too bright.)

"Keys. To those old WWII barracks we talked about searching. You want to get in them, right? They're gonna be locked."

"Yes, I know they're gonna be locked. I'm just surprised you sent out for keys is all."

"Well, what did you expect me to do? Shoot the locks off?"

"Actually, yeah. That is exactly what I expected you to do. That or, you know, explosives."

"Waste of ammo."

"That's never stopped you before."

The commander looked around at the rest of his team. "You guys good here?"

"We got it, Boss." It was the woman who answered.

"Okay, good. Danny and I will go search those barracks. We'll let you know if we find anything."

Wasting no time now that he had laid out a plan of action, Steve McGarrett turned and strode for the exit, the blond guy strolling along in his wake. Not having been given a direct order, Barrett hovered uncertainly beside the table until the two older men reached the outer door. It was the blond guy who turned back for him.

"Yo. Keys. You coming or what?"

5-0-5-0-5-0-5-0

The commander's car was a sweet black Corvette. He slid in behind the wheel and Barrett and the civilian both went around to the passenger side. Barrett was expecting the civilian to take the back seat and allow him to ride shotgun, since he was an officer, even if not (yet) a high-ranking one. Somehow that didn't happen, though, and as they left the lot and spun out onto the city streets he found himself hanging onto the armrest and looking at the back of a blond head.

He just hoped Blondie appreciated what an honor it was for the commander to allow him to ride in his car.

McGarrett threw the car into the wrong lane in the face of oncoming traffic, accelerated past two taxis and a mini-van with a giant pineapple on top, and cut back into his own lane amid a blaring of car horns.

"Speed limits, Steven," Blondie said mildly. "They exist for a reason."

Barrett braced himself against the motion of the car and wondered how long it would be before the commander ran out of patience with his insubordinate underling. The commander ignored his civilian operative and glanced at Barrett in the rearview mirror.

"You got a name?" he asked.

"Barrett, sir. Ensign James Barrett."

Blondie took a little notebook and a pen from his shirt pocket and clicked the top on the pen. "How do you spell that?"

"Um, B-A-R-R-E-T-T," Barrett said.

"-E-T-T," Blondie echoed.

"What are you doing?" The commander asked.

"Obviously, I am writing down our passenger's name, so that when your driving inevitably gets us killed in a fiery crash, the officers processing the scene will know how to identify the extra dead guy in the back seat."

Commander McGarrett sighed and shook his head. He glanced away out the side window even as he squealed around a corner so fast that the rear wheels fishtailed. Barrett waited with a shiver of glee for him to lose his temper and give the irreverent blond guy a lesson in how not to behave towards a superior officer.

"Come on, Danno. Why you gotta be that way? Huh?"

"Why? Why do _I_ gotta be that way? Because you're a maniac. And you're driving like an insane person. And I know, and you do too if you'd only admit it, that it is just a matter of time before you turn this lovely vehicle into a death trap."

"I'm not gonna crash the car," McGarrett said. Barrett could see him, in the rearview mirror, rolling his eyes. "I'm a good driver. I'm an amazing driver."

"You're a terrible driver."

"I'm amazing."

"You're not."

"I am."

"You're not."

"I am. Besides, if we got into a fiery crash your notebook would burn up, so the whole thing's stupid."

"That is why," Blondie waved his arms around, punctuating his words with swoops and thrusts and hand motions. "That is why I am planning to _throw_ the notebook-" he pantomimed throwing the notebook- " _out_ the window-" he gestured to the closed passenger-side window- "seconds before impact."

"Before or after you roll down the window?" McGarrett asked snidely.

"After. Obviously."

"I'm not going to get you killed," McGarrett said. He sounded like a sulky child.

"You are, Babe. You so are going to get me killed."

"I'm not going to get you killed. I might kill you, but I'm not going to get you killed. You haven't...you haven't even been shot at in...in...in weeks!"

"Weeks? Weeks! Did you just say weeks?"

"I did."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I said that, yeah."

"Weeks?"

"Weeks."

Blondie, still clutching the pen and notebook in his left hand, tossed his hands up in the air. "What about last Thursday?"

Commander McGarrett thought about it. "The little old lady?"

"Yes, the little old lady! The crazy little old lady who thought you were trying to unravel her crochet work and for some completely bizarre reason responded to said delusion by SHOOTING AT ME!"

"That doesn't count. She only had a .22. Besides, her aim was terrible. You'd have been in more danger if she hadn't been shooting at you."

"So you admit that she was shooting at me!"

"She wasn't shooting at you."

"You just said-!"

"She was _intending_ to shoot at you," McGarrett explained reasonably. "But she wasn't _actually_ shooting at you. She was actually shooting about twenty feet to your right. Barring gale-force winds you were fine."

"That's not the point."

"There's a point?" The commander turned deliberately away from Blondie and his eyes found Barrett's in the rearview mirror. "So...Barrett huh?"

"I can't believe you have any free time," Blondie muttered, tucking his hands into his armpits and folding his arms across his chest. "Such scintillating conversation should keep you in constant demand on the Oahu social circuit."

"Well, it does, mostly," McGarrett admitted modestly.

Blondie snorted and glanced into the back seat. "If you had another E at the end of your name you'd be a barrette, like my daughter wears in her hair. Or, rather, loses constantly because they fall out of her hair. And then you'd probably get lost, which would be bad. And, anyway, if you got anywhere near my daughter's hair I'd have to kill you. So it's probably just as well that you don't have one."

They sat in silence for half a block. McGarrett narrowly missed a food truck and frightened three pedestrians.

"An extra E, I mean," Blondie prompted.

Barrett cast about for something to say and wondered if maybe Blondie was simply insane and Commander McGarrett was, for some reason, taking care of him. An act of charity perhaps...?

The two men in the front seat exchanged a look. Blondie raised his eyebrows. Commander McGarrett shrugged.

Blondie turned sideways in his seat so he could look at Barrett more directly. "So why were you standing in the bushes this morning?"

Barrett felt his face grow hot. "I wasn't standing in the bushes," he protested.

"Yes, you were. I saw you when I came into work. You were standing in the bushes to the left of the door. After I walked past you, you came out and followed me inside. You know, if you didn't know where to go, you could have just asked someone."

"I wasn't standing in the bushes."

"Yeah, you-" Blondie glanced back towards the front of the vehicle and let out a shriek. He spun and planted both hands on the dashboard. "The shopping trolley. The shopping trolley! Steven, don't rear-end the shopping trolley!"

McGarrett braked, swerved, cut into traffic and passed the shopping trolley without blinking. Blondie turned back to the back seat like nothing had happened.

"You were totally hiding in the bushes."

"He probably saw you coming," the commander suggested. "I can completely understand hiding in the bushes when you're coming."

"No, _you_ hide in the bushes when you see the waiter coming. With the check. But, seriously. What is it with hiding in the bushes? Is this some camouflage thing you learn in the Army?"

"Navy," the commander and Barrett said simultaneously.

Blondie threw back his head and laughed out loud in delight.

"Steven! You have a backup singer! Little old lady in the crosswalk! Little old lady in the crosswalk!"

Commander McGarret slammed on the brake, downshifted, and spun into a sharp right turn just before he reached the endangered pedestrian.

"I wasn't going to hit her," he said, "because, obviously, I was planning to turn before we got to the crosswalk."

"Planning to turn," Blondie scoffed. "Planning to turn. You weren't planning to turn until you realized you were about to run down a little old lady."

"I was."

"You weren't."

"I was."

"You weren't." He shrugged elaborately and held out his right hand, palm up. "This isn't even the way to the barracks."

"I know a shortcut."

"A shortcut. Ha. Gonna get me killed," he muttered. "Someday...someday, you're gonna get me killed."

"Stop catastrophizing."

"Catastrophizing? Catastrophizing! Every time I go anywhere with you, something happens to endanger my chances of continued vitality. I can only wonder what it's gonna be today. Am I gonna get shot, stabbed, squished, incinerated, exploded, imploded, eviscerated, exsanguinated, defenestrated-"

"De-what?" McGarret interrupted him.

"Defenestrated."

"Is that a real word? I don't believe that's a real word. You made that up."

"I did not make it up!" Blondie appeared affronted. "It's a word. A real word. It's a perfectly good word."

"What does it mean? It sounds vaguely dirty. I think you made it up."

"I did not make it up. I did- You know what? Google it."

McGarrett shifted his grip on the steering wheel to his left hand and pulled out his phone. "Okay, Google," he said. He glanced at Blondie.

"Defenestrate," Blondie prompted.

"Defenestrate," McGarrett repeated.

"Defenestrate means to throw someone or something out a window," Google supplied politely.

Blondie grinned.

"Throw someone out a window," McGarret echoed. "Throw someone out a window. Why is there a word for throwing someone out a window? I mean, was there a sudden rash of people throwing people out of windows? Why do you need a word for something like that?"

Blondie settled back into his seat. He crossed his arms across his chest, but then liberated his right hand so he could continue to gesture with it as he spoke. "What happened-obviously-is that a long time ago Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster-"

"The dictionary guys," McGarrett clarified, glancing over at him.

"The dictionary guys, yes, Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster sat down for a consultation with a gypsy fortune teller. And she looked into her crystal ball and foresaw your eventual existence and she said to them, 'you're going to need a lot more words for doing horrible things to people.'"

The corner of McGarrett's mouth twitched and he shook his head. _He's amused_ , Barrett realized. _Perhaps I should re-think how I'm going to impress him._

"I've never gotten you defenestrated," McGarret said, looking over to his passenger.

Blondie considered it. "This is true," he conceded. "You've never gotten me defenestrated."

"Right. I've never gotten you defenestrated. Yet."

"Ha! Aha! But you admit that it's on your agenda?"

"Well, yeah. And at the earliest possible opportunity. Hell, I'd have done it a long time ago if I'd known there was a word for it."

Blondie glanced back at Barrett again. "How's your stomach? You got a strong stomach? 'Cause I know that Steven's driving can be nauseating."

"Of course he has a strong stomach," McGarrett said.

"Why? Because he's in the Army?"

"Navy," McGarrett and Barrett chorused.

Blondie grinned a huge grin. Barrett realized he was saying "Army" deliberately just to get them to correct him.

"Well, I hope he's got a strong stomach," he told McGarrett. "Because if he blows chunks in my car you're cleaning it up."

Barrett blinked. _He thinks it's his car now?_

"No," McGarrett said. "If he blows chunks in your car, he's cleaning it up."

 _It_ is _his car?_

"Hey, Babe! I know why he was standing in the bushes! He wanted to be ready in case you came along and needed a geek chorus."

"You mean a Greek chorus."

"No, I don't. I really don't."

"Ha ha. Funny." McGarrett spun the wheel and the car spun off the highway and slid to a stop in a gravel lot surrounded by long-abandoned, WWII-era military barracks. "We're here. C'mon, Danno. Let's go find ourselves some contraband."

The three men exited the car and walked around to the front of it. While McGarrett and Blondie stood looking around the compound Barrett leaned against the hood of the car, crossed his arms and addressed the commander.

"So, Babe. Where do you want to start?"

The commander and Blondie turned around very slowly. Blondie tucked his left arm into his right armpit and used his right hand to cover the lower half of his face. His eyebrows climbed. He looked amused.

McGarrett did not.

"What did you call me?"

"Uh...B-b-babe?" 

"Oh." He nodded thoughtfully. "Babe." He canted his body slightly towards Blondie. "He called me Babe."

"Yeah, uh, I thought that's what it sounded like he called you when I heard him say that just now. Babe."

"Right. Babe." Commander McGarrett turned back to face Barrett and the coldest cold front ever to hit the Hawaiian Islands settled over the parking lot. "Get your butt off my partner's car."

Barrett jumped up and came to attention.

"Where in the hell in your training did you ever learn that it's acceptable for an ensign in the United States Navy to address a superior, military or civilian, as 'Babe'?"

Barrett stuttered and stammered but ultimately failed to produce any sounds that approximated actual words.

"What was that? I can't hear you, Ensign!"

"But...but...but...Danno-"

Danno held up a finger. "It's Danny."

McGarrett held up a finger. "It's Detective Williams. It's Detective Williams, SIR!"

"Army training failing him?" Williams asked.

"Navy," McGarrett and Barrett chorused.

"Shut up," McGarrett and Williams chorused.

Surprisingly, it was Williams who came to Barrett's defense. "Go easy on him, Steven. He's young and he's just survived your driving for the first time. Also, he's been listening to us in the car and he probably doesn't understand the impropriety inherent in attempting to usurp the paradigm of other people's relationships."

"Doesn't understand the impropriety?" McGarrett demanded. He didn't seem appeased. "He damn well should understand the impropriety." He turned back to Barrett. "If you see Commander Walters with her husband, do you start calling her Cuddle Bunny? If you see Lieutenant Doran with his daughter, do you start calling him Daddy? Well? Do you?"

Barrett shook his head frantically. "No, sir!"

"And yet you think that, because my best friend calls me Babe, it's suddenly okay for you to call me Babe? Well, let me tell you something. Do you know when it will be acceptable for you to interact with me the same way that Detective Williams interacts with me? I'll tell you. It will be acceptable when you _are_ Detective Williams. Now, I don't mean when you leave the Navy and join the police force and attain the rank of Detective. I don't mean when you save my life more times that I can count, or trust me with your children, or even when you give me half of one of your major body organs. I mean when you actually physically transmogrify-"

Williams interrupted him. He was standing to the side with his arms crossed. Now he canted forward at the waist, swiveling his body and leaning in towards his friend. "Trans _mog_ rify?"

McGarrett immediately gave him his attention. "Yeah. Transmogrify. It means-"

"I know what it means. I'm just surprised you know what it means."

"I got skills, man."

"You do. You do. That's a great word and I'm very impressed."

"Right?" McGarrett grinned, his eyes warming and his whole face lighting up. Then he spun back to Barrett and the hard-ass Navy SEAL was back. It was like flipping a switch. "When you have _transmogrified_ into Detective Williams, then you can interact with me in the same manner as Detective Williams. Until then, I expect you to comport yourself with every ounce of the decorum befitting a member of the United States Navy. Do you understand?"

Barrett nodded. He nodded like a cheap bobblehead on the front of a dune buggy and when he was done nodding he nodded some more. McGarrett still had his finger up and it was a funny thing. When Danno...Danny...Detective Williams, SIR! When McGarrett's partner raised a finger, he just raised a finger, but when Commander McGarrett raised a finger, somehow there was a fist attached.

McGarrett turned and took a few steps away and Williams came over to stand next to him. He bumped his shoulder into McGarrett's elbow.

"Love you, Babe."

"Love you more," McGarret replied casually. He pointed to the nearest row of Quonset huts. "Let's start there and work our way around."

The two men strolled away side by side without a backwards glance. Barrett followed them reluctantly. The old barracks were surrounded by lush greenery and just then standing in the bushes seemed like it might be a good idea.

The end.


End file.
